


Sherlock, of House Holmes

by Gazyrlezon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: AU - Sherlock Holmes in Westeros, Book: A Study in Scarlet, Gen, Just something that popped into my head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7572517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gazyrlezon/pseuds/Gazyrlezon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first meeting of John Watson, erstwhile student at the Citadel, and Sherlock, of House Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock, of House Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> While most of the aspects taken from Sherlock Holmes (mostly the characters) are by now public domain, the scene of their first meeting resembles the one shown in _A Study in Pink_ and _The Abominable Bride_ , so maybe some of the rights belong to the BBC. I really can't say that I know.
> 
> Everything else, from Westeros as a whole to things like the Citadel and a few mentioned characters belong to (surprise!) GRRM. 
> 
> May he choose to give events a better turn than the Show _Game of Thrones_ , which, as rumor has it, was once based upon it.

In the year 287 I left the Citadel after long and insightful studies, forging enough links for a chain of respectable length. I did not take the vow to live as a maester, instead proceeded to join a mercenary company as a man with knowledge of healing soon thereafter, not wishing to spend my live as advisor to a lord. After a year of campaigning in the perpetuous wars between Myr and Lys word reached us of Balon Greyjoy’s uprising, and we hurried to return to the shores of Westeros. 

The rebellion brought honours and knighthoods to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. During the siege of Pyke I took an arrow in the shoulder while, which shattered the bone and left me bleeding and in dire need of medical attention myself. Had it not been for the extraordinary courage of my comrades who dragged me from the field I should have certainly died there, but instead they succeeded in bringing me to safety. 

Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had undergone, by the time I was able to do even basic work again, Lord Balon had already surrendered and my comrades were already on their way back to the Free Cities, to participate in their infinite wars once more. With my health irretrievably ruined, and with permission from my superiors to end my contract permanently should I not recover, I choose to end my employment with the money I had, for I would not withstand another voyage across the storms of the narrow sea. 

I had no kin in Westeros, and was therefore as free as air — or as free as a man’s meagre possessions would allow. Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to the Capital, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Seven Kingdoms are irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at an inn in Eal Ally, leading a comfortless, meaningless existence, and spending such money as I had, considerably more freely than I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances become, that I soon realized that I must either leave the city and move to somewhere in the country, or that I must make a complete alteration in my style of living. Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making up my mind to leave the hotel, and to take up my quarters in some less pretentious and less expensive place. Once living on my own, I planned to establish myself as a medical man among the rich, who had enough money to pay for their healths, so that a man might make a living of it. 

On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I was standing in the inn’s common room, when someone tapped me on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized young Mike, who had been a novice during my time at the Citadel. The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of King’s Landing is a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In old days he had never been a particular crony of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm, and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the exuberance of my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at Alla’s, a tavern which I had grown to like, and we started off together.t. 

“Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?” he asked in undisguised wonder, as we walked through the crowded streets. “You are as thin as a lath.” 

I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it by the time that we reached our destination. 

“Poor devil!” he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened to my misfortunes. “What are you up to now?” 

“Looking for lodgings.” I answered. “Trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price.” 

“That’s a strange thing,” remarked my companion; “you are the second man who as asked me this question today.” 

“And who was the first?” I asked. 

“A fellow whom I came to know during my research in the Dragonpit, where I had been in order to confirm what Archmaester Gyldayn says about its dimensions, for a project of Maester Yandel’s. I took him for a scholar and asked if he knew anything about the matter, and though he is not very talkative he sometimes shares his insights with me. Just this morning he lamented that he could not get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which were too much for his purse.” 

“By all Seven!” I cried, “if he really wants someone to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone, especially in case he is a scholar.” 

Young Mike looked rather strangely at me over his wine-glass. “You don’t know Sherlock Holmes yet,” he said; “perhaps you would not care for him as a constant companion.” 

“Why, what is there against him?” 

“Oh, I didn’t say there was anything against him. He seems a little queer in his ideas – an enthusiast in some areas of knowledge. As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough.” 

“A student of the Citadel, such as ourself?” said I. 

“No – Not to my knowledge. We talked quite a while, during which I got the impression that he is well up in medicine, and well-versed in the more serious branches of alchemy; and he certainly had no trouble forging himself a silver link, or any other, but on my prompting he denied ever having been to the Citadel. His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the way knowledge which would astonish every maester.” 

“Did you ask him what he was going in for?” I asked. 

“No; he does not seem to be a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him.” 

“I should like to meet him,” I said. “If I am to lodge with anyone, I should prefer a man of studious and quiet habits. I am not strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both at Pyke to last me for the remainder of my live. How could I meet this friend of yours?” 

“He is sure to be at the Dragonpit, in one of the small side-chambers were the septons lay out the men found dead in the streets,” returned my companion. “He either avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning to night. If you like, we shall go round together after lunch.” 

“Certainly,” I answered, and the conversation drifted away into other channels. 

As we made our way up the hill after leaving Alla’s, Mike gave me a few more particulars about the man whom I proposed to take as a fellow-lodger. 

“You mustn’t blame me if you don’t get on with him,” he said; “I know nothing more of him than I have learned from meeting him occasionally. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me responsible.” 

“If we don’t get on it will be easy to part company,” I answered. “It seems to me, Mike,” I added, looking hard at my companion, “that you have some reason for washing your hands of the matter. Is this fellow’s temper so formidable, or what is it? Don’t be small-mouthed about it.” 

“It is not easy to express the inexpressible,” he answered with a laugh. “Holmes is a little too scholarly for my tastes – it approaches cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of a unknown mixture found in the alchemist’s hall, not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects. To do him justice, I think that he would take it himself with the same readiness. He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge.” 

“Very rightly so.” 

“Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes to beating the dead with a stick, it is certainly taking rather a bizarre shape.” 

“Beating dead bodies!” 

“Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. I saw him at it with my own eyes.” 

“And yet you say he is not from the Citadel undertaking a journey for knowledge, as yourself and some others are doing?” 

“No. The Heavens know what his motivations are. But here we are, and you must form your own impressions about him.” As he spoke, we turned down a narrow lane and passed through a small side-door beneath the enormous dome, which opened into a corridor leading inside the old ruin. Nearly half-way through a low arched passage branched away from it, while at the far end I could catch a glimpse of the interior of that old and fallen monument. 

Behind the arch was a lofty chamber, filled with the bleak spirit that dead bodies tend to create. Broad, low tables were scattered about in something of an organized manner, each holding a corpse of a recently deceased resident of the city whose identity was either unknown or who had been too poor to leave means to pay for a proper burial in accordance with the faith. The Poor Fellows brought them there from where they found them on the streets, and the City Watch often contributed their own bodies, from executed criminals and men found in dead in their homes alike. I distinctly remembered a similar institution in Oldtown, where it was organized by maesters as a means of obtaining subjects to teach the internal structures of the body, and concluded that this offered the same opportunity for anyone without access to the of the Citadel. 

Right now, there was only one student in the chamber, who was standing over a distant table with a horsewhip, beating the table’s occupant. So absorbed was he in his uncommon task that he only noticed us once I raised my voice and shouted over the noise that his actions created. 

Turning round, he took one look at me before Mike introduced us. 

“John Watson, Lord Sherlock, of House Holmes.” 

“How are you?” he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength for which I should hardly have given him credit. “You have fought in Lord Greyjoy’s Rebellion, I perceive.” 

“How on earth did you know that?” I asked in astonishment. 

“Never mind”, said he, chuckling to himself. “The question now is about lodgings. I have my eye on a set of rooms in the Street of Bakers,” he said, “which would suit us down to the ground. You don’t mind me sometimes not opening my mouth for days on end, I hope?” 

“Rooms? Who said anything about rooms?” 

“I did, to Mike this morning, now here he is with a man recently returned from fighting with an almost crippling injury, clearly in search to limit his own expenses without leaving this city. The conclusion seemed inescapable. Tomorrow, then, an hour after noon, on the top end of the Street of Bakers, if that is convenient to you.” 

At my nodding, he turned round again and continued with his work, and we left him among his corpses. 

On our way out of the dark corridors running through the monumental ruin, my companion answered my unspoken question with a smile; “Yes. He’s always been like that” 

“How did he know of my part in the Rebellion? After a fortnight, a stab-wound looks much the same as the one left by an arrow, and I could have just as easily acquired it in one of the tavern fights that are so common here. To be honest, I’ve barely been able to avoid them while I have stayed at the inn.” 

“That’s just his little peculiarity”, he said. “A good many people have wanted to know how he finds things out.” 

“Oh! a mystery, is it?” I cried, rubbing my hands. “This is very exciting. I am much in debt to you for bringing us together. ‘The proper study of mankind is man’, you know,” said I, quoting Archmaester Harmune’s writing. 

“You must study him, then,” Stamford said, as he bade me farewell. “You’ll find him a knotty problem, though. I’ll wager he learns more about you than you about him. The Seven be with you.” 

“And with you”, I answered, and strolled on to my inn, considerably interested in my new acquaintance.

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly, this is just an idea that one day popped into my mind and refused to go once I'd seen that no one else has done it before. I've written it by taking the first chapter of _A Study in Scarlet_ , the very first Sherlock Holmes story written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and then modifying it until it fit into GRRM's world.
> 
> A few notes on the depiction of the Citadel and the maesters:  
> Maester Yandel is, of course, the narrator of _A World of Ice and Fire_ (written by Elio Garcia and Linda Antonsson). Mike (Stamford, obviously) is tasked with verifying information for it. I'm not sure whether maester would actually do that (No one ever mentions it, but that could just be because its normal, and we haven't really had many chapters set in the Citadel anyways) There are, however, mentions of maesters themselves travelling in search of knowledge (Marwyn the Mage comes to mind).
> 
> Archmaester Gyldayn is one of Yandel's primary sources. According to the wiki, everything that is attributed to him was written directly by GRRM himself. (He is therefore also the author of _The Rogue Prince, or, the King’s Brother_ and _The Princess and The Queen, or, The Blacks and The Greens_
> 
> Maester Harmune is just someone whom I've found in the wiki as a historical maester. Apparently he wrote a book about the Night's Watch, and I've just attributed this quote of Alexander Pope to him, since I didn't want to cut it from the original text of _A Study in Scarlet_
> 
> As for dissecting bodies: It wasn't done in the real middle ages (as far as I know) until sometime after 1500, but Sam mentions to Jon that they'll make him cut bodies open and look inside when he tries to convince him not to send him to the Citadel, and Qyburn's main crime seems to be vivisection (cutting open _living_ humans, which Cersei gladly provides), implying that there's no cultural taboo on dissecting dead ones.
> 
> It's never really mentioned what happened to the Dragonpit after it was abandoned except that the pyromancers found wildfire beneath it when one of the prostitutes working there fell through the floor; given the enormous scale of it combined with it probably being easy to hide somewhere in supporting chambers around the main hall or between the ruins, I could imagine people using it for all kinds of (more-or-less legal) things (prostitution is already established, it would probably be a good place for a black market, too, seeing that in the real middle ages you needed a licence to start one). Since normally no one except Sherlock wants to have dead bodies lying around, I could easily see parts of the church/the city watch using it to temporarily store them (or maybe even as a permanent burial site. It's not likely that someone's going to complain, after all).
> 
> People leaving no money for their own burial was a real thing, too: the clothing of a [journeyman](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Journeyman) traditionally included an earring (or something similar) worth enough to guarantee its wearer a proper burial in case of a sudden death, which probably wasn't uncommon with little to no safety, for example at construction sites (though I don't know whether these earrings were already a thing in the middle ages or if they are a later invention, but I hardly think that the church was any more casual about this back then).
> 
> Oh, by now this note is ridiculously long, I should probably stop here.
> 
> Well, then, I hope you enjoyed this little story of mine (well, almost of mine, see the disclaimer at the top)


End file.
